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by Prinzenhasserin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 22:25:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9627998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/pseuds/Prinzenhasserin
Summary: Minerva’s colleagues are definitely hiding something, and it’s got nothing to do with quidditch, no matter how hard Pomona tries to convince her— Septima hasn’t gone outside since the 1940s, how would she know anything about quidditch.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redsnake05](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redsnake05/gifts).



> Dear redsnake05!  
> At one point this contained quite a lot more weaving, but I hope you aren’t too sorry that I included lots more characters instead. Hope you enjoy!

The Hogwarts year had started three weeks ago. So far, the school was running smoothly, though Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was hedging her bets until the last student was going to leave the train in London some 9 months from now, it being her first year as a headmistress. Since her students were behaving as well as they ever did (she could spy only one beginning of a food fight and the prefects had that well in hand), she could direct her attention towards the revolt her female colleagues were undoubtedly staging.

"I know what you are doing," Minerva leaned over to Poppy and whispered, "and it's not working."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Poppy lied straight to her face without batting an eye.

"Is this because I called the fine art of potions making overrated and a waste of anyone's time? If so, that wasn't directed at you, and I would never—"

"No," Poppy answered resolutely. 

"It's because you called the Hufflepuff team a bunch of hacks that couldn't even fly a straight line if they were tied to the train tracks," piped up Pomona from further down the table.

Septima started snickering.

"And the thing you are so obsessed with is nothing other than a cheerful support circle for the Hufflepuff quidditch team. You should really think about doing the same, the betting stats show clearly that Gryffindor’s the obvious underdog."

"As the headmistress I can show no obvious preference—," Minerva interrupted herself and send a sharp look over at Pomona. "This is preposterous. The last time Septima was outside to enjoy Scotland in it’s finest form, Grindelwald was a wee babe. I dinnae think she’s ever seen one game!"

"Not entirely true," Septima replied, still snickering. "There was this one time not too long ago when the floo system shut down and I had to walk all the way to Hogsmeade."

"The last time the Hogwart’s floo system was shut down was during the War with the Germans," Rolanda said dryly. "When the mother hearth in London had to be shut down. That was the Forties, Septima."

"Case in point," Minerva said. "There’s no way this is about quidditch when Septima has a part in this."

"It’s a nice get-together without our supervisor," Poppy said, and waved her fork with insistence. "And frankly, it’s none of your business, Headmistress."

"None of my—" 

Minerva’s protest was cut short by Pomona, who murmured, quietly but very much audible, "Curiosity killed the cat." 

Minerva shot them all the angriest glare she could muster, and then swooped out of the Great Hall.

* * *

Minerva couldn’t contain herself, and paced circles in the rug in front of the headmaster’s— headmistress’ desk, now.  


"It’s because I insulted every one of their subjects, isn’t it?" she asked Irma. She was sitting next to the fireplace, her nose stuck in one of the many books both Albus and Snape had been hiding in their bookshelf. Lots of them were the only exemplar of their kind, and Irma had spent the last few months — ever since Minerva herself moved into this office — devouring their contents.

"Or maybe it’s because you’re stressed out about the job and venting out on them," Irma replied without looking up.

Minerva stopped pacing, and looked over at her long-time partner. "Do you think they are staging a revolution?" she asked seriously.

"Sure," Irma picked up her wand from behind her ear, and with some inspired use of Charms, manipulated the other armchair in the room right into Minerva’s knee hollows.

Minerva — who admittedly wasn’t paying her full attention — fell into the chair like a heavy sack of potatoes. "Settle down," Irma said, and wrapped one of her legs around Minerva’s. "Have a biscuit. If your teachers are really staging a revolt, you have Harry Potter’s private floo name. You’ll be fine."

"Are they staging a revolt?" Minerva asked suspiciously. 

Irma snorted. "I’m going to make tea," she said, and stood up. "Relax. You are worried over nothing." 

For a few minutes, she busied herself with making the tea, a ceremony that might be just as calming as taking the first sip of the much-praised beverage, and then slid with the cup held securely in her hands, onto Minerva’s lap. Slowly feeding the tea to Minerva, Irma added, "You really think the colleagues you've been working with— for more than thirty years in some cases— are going to do the same thing they did to Severus Snape, to you? Darling, you are reaching."

And then she banished the cup to the kitchens, tightened her hold on Minerva, and for the next few minutes they didn't do any talking. In fact, they only had to stop, because the portraits started hooting and hollering, and Irma couldn’t convince Minerva that that was a nice addition, instead of an annoyance not to be tolerated.

* * *

Minerva could not quite put it to rest, though. Her mind kept niggling at her -- maybe because events hadn't calmed down significantly after the final battle during the restoration, only now for the first time in months, nay, years, Minerva's responsibilities had shrunken to a manageable amount.  


As soon as Irma was occupied with another batch of research grants, Minerva hunted down Rolanda for a friendly talk in private. After a bit of prodding she revealed that there was no such thing as a teacher’s group for the support of the Hufflepuff quidditch team, as far as she knew — and then she turned red and mumbled something about the Cleansweeps. 

Minerva, merciful because she didn’t quite know how to apply the right nuance of pressure, desisted, and turned towards applying her tenterhooks to Poppy again. But Poppy possessed a wise foresight, and had been visiting with cousins.

  


On the morning of the forth of October, after a delay courtesy of Irma who had used her feminine wiles and the fact that it _was,_ "—your birthday! When are you going to call in late, if not on your birthday—" against Minerva, she stepped into the Great Hall. There was nothing at all unusual about the bleary-eyed students eating breakfast, nothing out of the ordinary, except for the wall behind the teachers table.

Now, there hung a tapestry — a large one, one with moving figures. While she could not make out details from the door, the size of the wall hanging was enormous. Carefully approaching (though why she was walking towards an inanimate object as if a slight startle would make it take flight she didn’t know), it appeared to be a strange sort of love letter to the person of Minerva McGonagall. There was a tiny portrait of Dougal McGregor, a large strip reserved for her career in the MLE, and then her years returning to Hogwarts. 

Even closer, she could make out the tiny threads that wove the structure together — when she looked at one, it would form into a tiny thank you note, accompanied by the name of the former student thanking her. She felt tears coming into her eyes, and cleared her throat.

"Well," she said, with a rough voice, to the squad of teachers standing beside her, trembling with anticipation. "If not even the teachers can find it in them to cheer on the Hufflepuff team—"

Quick handed, Pomona fired a Silencio at her. 

Minerva turned away, her sob now inaudible, and then smiled through her tears. They did have quite enough of revolutions, after all.


End file.
